The Silent Toll of Heavy Periods: When "I'm Fine" Costs You Years of Healthful Living

By Héma Prakash, Co-founder & CEO, Ponti Health

(I am not a medical professional by any stretch of the imagination; I am a woman sharing my personal perspectives and experiences. The views, opinions, and experiences expressed in this article are entirely my own and do not constitute medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment recommendations of any kind. This is not intended to guide, influence, or direct anyone's healthcare decisions or actions.

For all/any health concerns, questions, or decisions, please consult with qualified healthcare professionals who can assess your individual circumstances and provide appropriate medical guidance.)

---

Let me tell you about the day I was on stage speaking at a conference, and I bled through every layer of protection whilst speaking to 2000+ people.

The irony still stings.

There I stood on stage, microphone layered through my clothes, talking about agency and taking control of your health. Meanwhile, I was quietly panicking as warmth spread despite everything—the tranexamic acid I'd started 24 hours earlier, the industrial-strength period underwear, the super tampon and pad combo. Kicking myself for wearing a white dress, white sneakers - my uniform when I am at these things. What a choice!?

None of it worked. None of it ever really worked.

I finished my talk. Smiled through photos. Shook hands with attendees. Then faced my nightmare: a 14-hour flight back to Sydney with supplies already failing me. Somewhere over the Pacific, sitting in an airline bathroom using their emergency pad stash, reality finally broke through eight years of denial. 

This wasn't fine. This had never been fine.

Here's what makes this story worth telling: I'm not unique. Right now, thousands of Australian women are living my story. They're bleeding through at daily life, skipping gym classes, avoiding white clothes, telling themselves they're managing.

They're not managing. They're surviving. And there's a crucial difference.

The Slow Erosion: How I Spent Eight Years Losing Myself

Year One: "It's probably just stress" 

My periods got heavier gradually. That's how these things work—slowly enough that you don't notice you're adapting, shrinking, compensating.

First came super tampons. Then changing every two hours instead of four. Then every 90 minutes. Then, pads as backup. Then, period underwear under the pads. Then only black or navy during "that week." And “that week” was no longer just a week through peri-menopause; it never quite stopped.

Strategic planning was something I lived and breathed at work day in, day out; it’s my default, my second nature. I applied that diligently to my never-ending periods. I knew every bathroom anywhere. Phone alarms for tampon changes. Emergency supplies in EVERY bag, desk drawer, car, and my office drawer. 

Building Infrastructure Around Suffering

I developed systems - again, it’s one of my superpowers at work, so what did I do? I applied it to my periods. Good heavens, I was so proud of my systems.

Naprogesics and tranexamic acid on standby, deployed like clockwork 24 hours before my period started. Extra supplies everywhere. Dark clothing rotation. Bathroom breaks timed to the minute. Meetings/travel scheduled accordingly when possible. (BTW, peri menopause made that impossible)

I told myself this meant I was coping. Managing. Handling it like. Besides, there were so many other things I needed to focus on - namely, all my other Peri Menopausal symptoms, a wonderfully full, happy and successful career and life.

What was I actually doing? Building an entire life infrastructure around something that shouldn't have required infrastructure at all, certainly not to this level.

The Things I Gave Up (That I Pretended Didn't Matter)

Then came the gym incident. I bled onto a mat during a session with my incredible trainer. The humiliation burned as hot as the cramping in my abdomen. I apologised profusely to my trainer, who didn't blink and cleaned my mat. I never went back during my period again. Not all superheroes wear capes - this gentleman continues to train our incredible Ponti Health patients and me - he knows. 

Then I stopped my beach dips. Those early morning and late evening dips at Bondi that centred me, grounded me, made me feel like myself? Too risky. Too unpredictable. What if I bled when I stepped out of the water?

My wardrobe told its own story. All my cream and white linen pieces—the ones that made me feel confident and put-together—hung unworn. Silent witnesses to what I was giving up, piece by piece, month by month.

I rationalised. "Plenty of women have it worse." 

And being in peri menopause, my periods were consistently erratic, my woeful period tracking app from some years ago told me that I bled for 70% of the year and spotted for the rest of the time. What the actual!!! 

"Running Through Molasses"

That's the phrase I still use. Everything required more effort than it should have. Everything felt harder, heavier, more exhausting.

My hair started thinning noticeably around Year Five. I blamed stress, age, genetics—anything but the chronic anaemia slowly depleting me.

Crankiness became the baseline, and I wasn’t a cranky person. That spring in my step I'd always had? Forced. The energy that was used to carry me through 14-hour workdays? Vanished, but I kept, keeping on - I marched forward.

Looking back, I see the anxiety clearly. At the time, I thought I was just being organised, prepared, and responsible. The constant mental calculation—Where's the nearest bathroom? How long until I need to change? What if I bleed through? Can I wear this? Should I cancel?—felt like necessary life management, not the red flag it actually was.

The Conversations I Didn't Have

Here's the most damning part: I finally had access to excellent doctors in my 6th year of awful periods. I had health literacy. I understood medical terminology. I had complete agency and access over my healthcare decisions.

And yet, every single time a doctor asked about my periods, I'd say the same thing: "They're annoying, but I'm managing." I didn't go deeper.

I never said how heavy. Never quantified the number of tampons and pads. Never mentioned bleeding through heavy-duty period knickers overnight. Never admitted I'd reorganised my entire life around my menstruation…

I never asked for help.

The Breaking Point: My doctor finally saw through 'my periods are annoying, but managed'

"Tell me more about your periods."

My GP asked the question I'd heard from dozens of doctors over the years.

But this time was different. This time, I was fresh from the stage incident. Exhausted from that horrible flight. Done with pretending. Finally, catastrophically ready to tell the truth.

What I Actually Said (For the First Time Ever)

"I change a super absorbency tampon and period knickers every 60 minutes for the first three days of my period."

"I bleed through overnight protection regularly. I wake up in puddles despite using the heaviest products available."

"I pass clots the size of small golf balls. Sometimes larger."

"The pain is severe enough that I can't concentrate at work. I've learnt to breathe through it, take my Naprogesic and plan for it 48 hours prior because I don't have a choice."

"I've stopped going to the gym/pilates/yoga during my period. I've stopped swimming. I've stopped wearing more than half my wardrobe."

"I'm exhausted all the time. My hair is falling out. I'm cranky and anxious, and I don't feel like myself anymore."

"I've structured my entire life around my cycle for eight years."

She listened. She didn't interrupt. She didn't minimise. She didn't compare me to other patients. She didn't suggest I was overreacting or being dramatic.

She took notes. Asked follow-up questions. Ordered tests. 

The Investigation

Blood work revealed significant anaemia. My iron levels were critically low, explaining the exhaustion, hair loss, difficulty concentrating, probably contributing to why i needed 12 hours sleep.

A pelvic ultrasound showed thickening of my uterine walls—a classic sign of adenomyosis. (I was sent to a specialist ultrasound centre that specialises in women's ultrasounds - this is important as I have found out)

The Diagnosis

Adenomyosis. Possible Endometriosis. Severe iron deficiency anaemia.

I was 49 years old. I'd had these conditions for at least eight years. Possibly longer—maybe they'd been there all along, just getting progressively worse. Eight years of my life spent "managing" something that had a name, a cause, and multiple treatment options.

Eight years I'll never get back.